Chapter 1

In the summer of 1898, four months past my twentieth birthday, my cousin Linda paid us a visit. Had she not, perhaps my life would’ve turned out very differently.

Despite the familial connection, I had met Linda only twice before, both when I was very young; I did not well remember her except to recall she was three years my senior. Though her family did not live nearby, she had, two months previously, taken a role in a house as a serving maid for a wealthy family on the outskirts of Bourton-on-the-Water, eight miles from our village of Coln St Dennis. She came to visit on her first available opportunity, no doubt keen to regale us with the wealth of her employers and thus the reflected fortune of her appointment.

“…Nine bedrooms, if you could believe such a thing, and they have three drawing rooms, and their pantry is almost as big as this whole house!” She spoke with genuine delight at her providence.

“I’m sure it is.” That was my mother. She had not looked up from her knitting, and her tone suggested that though this must be very exciting for Linda, it did not necessarily mean everyone else would likely find it so.

“But is it not a lot for you to clean?” asked my younger sister, Laurel, who, at sixteen, was very practical, often exuberant, but not at all full of fluff, despite her innocence.

“Well, I do not clean it all myself,” Linda replied. “There are three serving maids all-told. Granted, I am the most junior, but then I have not been there but many weeks at all.”

Linda did not stay long as she had to bicycle the miles back to Bourton, and we all (except Mother) trooped out dutifully to admire the lady’s bicycle that she had been loaned for the journey (“One of the first of its kind!”). I wasn’t disappointed to see her go, but she promised to visit with us again when she next had a day to herself, perhaps two months hence.

I watched her peddle away; the bicycle looked like hard work, and not at all easy in all those skirts.

It was not long after she left that my father, who had mostly kept to himself during Linda’s visit, expressed his opinion. “It is a decent enough occupation for a girl. You should consider it, Emily.”

I did not know quite how to respond to that and so said nothing, thinking that instead I might wish another occupation that perhaps allowed me more time to myself than a day every two months. I didn’t fancy a life of cleaning for a wealthy family who would be unlikely to notice whether or not I was there.

Nevertheless, I had held my tongue when Father first raised the idea, and therefore could not reproach him when, scarcely a fortnight later, he entered the drawing room in excitement to inform the household in general, and me in particular, that he had secured me bed and board as a serving maid “with good prospects”.

I was to leave the very next day. Laurel cried, and even Mother informed me that she would miss me.

In retrospect, it was obvious that I was very fortunate, though at the time I did not appreciate quite what was in store for me. Yet to obtain such a role and at such a residence was a grand coup indeed, and I could imagine I was the envy of many a girl from the area.

The address to which I had been appointed was the estate at Laxton, near to Mansfield, far to the north. I was to come to learn it was considerably grander than the house where my cousin Linda was employed. Laxton had sixteen bedrooms and numerous state rooms, drawing rooms, a library, servants’ quarters and such, supported with extensive gardens and grounds.

It emerged my father had been in correspondence with a Mrs Dempster, with whom he had been acquainted some years previously, and thus had familiarity. It was she, I was informed, who was responsible for managing the various maids, of which Laxton apparently employed quite a number.

The following day I left early in the morning, even before the sun was up. First by post from our village to take coach from Burford, and from there to Oxford. Father rose to bid me goodbye and to remind me to keep my manners. Mother had apparently not slept particularly well and therefore had elected not to rise, due to the unseemly hour. At the last minute, my sister Laurel appeared clad in her nightshirt and hugged me fiercely.

On arrival at Oxford, I took a train as far as Mansfield, which had proximity to Laxton. It was my first time travelling by train, and I found it quite thrilling. Arriving at Mansfield in the early afternoon I looked for a girl named Lucy, another maid employed at Laxton, as per my father’s prior instructions. I understood she had been visiting family and was now returning to the estate. The station was not too busy, and anyway contained few girls travelling unescorted, as one might expect, thus she was not too difficult to locate.

Lucy was a very pretty, friendly-looking girl, and she greeted me warmly.

One of the Laxton coaches had been sent to collect us and our chests, an unexpected courtesy that was most welcome and saved the complexity of having to procure our own transport. To my eyes it was a very fine carriage and pulled by four; far larger than the post I had taken from my home earlier in the day.

Lucy’s chest was quite small, as she had been away only three days, but mine was somewhat larger. Despite this, Lucy expressed surprise that it was all I had brought. I did not say that it would have been difficult to bring more, given that the chest contained all the clothes I owned and still had room for some small, personal and cherished trinkets. Moreover, were it to have been any heavier, I could not imagine lifting it on and off the train without assistance.

The footman hoisted my heavy chest on top of the stage as though it were empty, and I couldn’t help but find him a little daunting. He was a very large man with ever so broad shoulders. Unlike my father, he was clean-shaven, but his mouth seemed to wear a permanent scowl which, combined with his bushy, black eyebrows, made him seem quite sinister.

I was a long way from home and, despite Lucy’s company, felt quite alone, though I found it reassuring that she did not seem nervous in his presence. Nevertheless, neither the intimidating footman nor the length of the trip had lessened my excitement of travelling – which was, for me at least, a new experience. I particularly anticipated our arrival at the estate itself.

Once past the gatehouse, the road wound gently between rows of well-established trees for some time before the house finally came into view. The residence seemed to stretch on and on, with a frontage of at least two-score large windows overlooking the entrance to the central courtyard. The carriage continued within, the horses turning a wide circle to finally stop before a flight of steps that rose up toward the main entrance, a door of considerable size and grandness.

The house was truly magnificent and incredibly daunting, predominantly white in its aspect, with much marble and majestic columns. While it was no doubt architecture of the highest quality, I found it difficult to look past my own awe-struck feelings of inadequacy. How on Earth was I to find my place in such a grand estate?

Lucy opened the door to our carriage and stepped down first, clearly more at ease than I. Making a conscious effort not to gape, I followed her. I hardly noticed the indifference the footman continued to show us or the lack of civility in not opening our door; Lucy had clearly expected as much and sensibly aided our alighting. He unloaded our chests, though somewhat less than gently. I made no objection as my possessions were deposited unceremoniously onto the gravel, feeling I wasn’t in a position to reproach him. It was not long before he had taken his rest once again and the driver geed the horses on.

“This way then, girls, let us not stand idle,” came a strict voice from my left, surprising me, so distracted had I been by the facing of the house and the departure of the stage. A quite severe-looking woman stood nearby, dressed reasonably well in a long, pleated, grey dress. She was probably in her early thirties, but the tightness of her braid and the sternness of her countenance made her seem older – or at least most intimidating. She gestured towards a small door to one side, sequestered discreetly; indeed, I had not observed it before.

Lucy quickly picked up her smaller case and walked towards her. I tried not to tarry as, with an effort, I lifted my heavier chest and struggled across the gravel.

“Come, come,” urged the woman impatiently, clearly with no intention of assisting me.

It took me some time to haul my chest through the door, along various corridors, up several flights of steps and finally to the room in which I was evidently to reside. Lucy cast me the occasional sympathetic look and appeared to want to help me, but there was only one handle and thus I had to manage alone. In any event, she had accompanied me; it seemed we were to be roommates.

The room I was guided to was clearly shared by several other girls for there were four beds in all, yet I had still at least twice the space I enjoyed at home, sharing with my sister.

I placed the chest at the foot of my bed and was all ready to collapse on to it, exhausted, when I noticed the disapproving look from the severe-looking woman by the door.

“You will need to bathe, then,” she stated. “Quite clearly your journey has left you in no fit state to be seen.”

It seemed one was not allowed to perspire in the house. This did not bode well for any future hard work – such as cleaning, for instance.

“Dinner will be attended at eight-thirty,” she continued, “but you are to gather by eight o’clock.”

I was to learn that the servants ate after the rest of the household, who usually dined at seven.

She turned and left, with a final, “Emily, Lucy will see to you.”

I admit I was quite glad to see her gone.

“She’s a bit of a dragon!” Lucy whispered, the moment the door had closed. She had echoed my thoughts quite accurately, and I fought to restrain a nervous giggle.

“Who is she?” I asked.

“Mrs Dempster,” she said as if I should know, her surprise quite evident. “Did you not meet her during your interview?”

“I didn’t have an interview.” So that was the Mrs Dempster my father knew. I wondered what form their previous acquaintance had taken.

“Really?” Lucy seemed quite taken aback by this development, but recovered momentarily. “Come, we must see to our bathing.”

She led me from the room and briefly down the corridor, before turning into what was the most enormous washroom. Several bathtubs lined the centre of the room, and I was astounded to see rows of large, copper pipes running across the sides of the room to terminate in what could only have been shower heads.

Lucy was watching my expression. “Yes, we are extremely modern here,” she announced, as though she had herself devised the plumbing. “There are many things that are done at Laxton that are well ahead of the times.”

As she spoke, she began to strip off her clothing, tossing it unceremoniously into a basket to one side. From the room and her manner, it was clear that bathing was to be communal. I wasn’t enamoured with that idea. But as she continued to disrobe, soon to be unclothed, I judged it wisest not to lag behind. I unbuttoned my dress and pulled it over my head, then focused intently on removing the remainder of my clothing, not quite comfortable with the nude proximity of the heretofore unknown Lucy, who, unashamed in her nakedness, had walked towards one of the wall-mounted showerheads and activated it by pulling a pair of long chains.

I could not delay unduly and soon was naked too, and though there were shower heads alongside both the walls of the washroom, felt it would be rude to choose one distant from Lucy’s. I busied myself with the chain mechanism, aware that Lucy was regarding me openly and frankly.

“You are very beautiful,” she said to me.

I turned to look at her in surprise, but at that moment cold water deposited upon my head and I gasped, spluttering, and had to swallow a shriek.

Lucy giggled.

“You have to use both chains to get the right temperature.” She stepped from her shower to mine, her closeness quite disconcerting. I tried not to look at her, regarding instead the chains as she instructed me on controlling the flow of water, and soon, to my surprise and delight, I had engineered a very pleasant flow of water under which to bathe.

I was aware of Lucy washing herself beside me and watching me while she did so.

“I like your breasts,” she remarked. “They are not too large or too small, and you have very fine nipples.”

I was absolutely certain I did not know how to respond, and felt my cheeks flame to be so appraised.

Lucy was not finished.

“Overall, I think you have a very fine figure. It is no wonder you were employed here.”

I wondered why the fineness or otherwise of my figure would have any bearing on my employment.

“You will need to do something about that, though, of course,” she added, and appeared to have gestured toward my pubic region.

Surprised, I looked at her, and though, with propriety, my eyes were largely focused on her face, I could not help but notice her nakedness. Lucy was certainly a very beautiful girl, and I thought her far finer than I. Her breasts were larger than mine and her hips curvier, and it was then that I noticed with great surprise that where I naturally wore a thick thatch of dark pubic hair, Lucy had nothing at all. She was completely bare, and it was possibly the most shocking thing I had ever observed. It was completely outrageous: it left her no modesty or cover; more, it served to flaunt her womanhood in the basest of ways, as if to draw attention. I found myself unable to look away, despite my embarrassment and the heat rising in my cheeks.

“What has happened to your hair?” I blurted, unable to stop myself.

“Do you like it?” she asked, turning towards me so that I could better see while she raised her arms lightly about her head. I noticed, too, that the underside of her arms was smooth, as indeed were her legs, on further appraisal.

I considered her nakedness, transfixed despite myself, and decided that she looked so beautifully feminine, so smooth and inviting, that I could only nod my approval, my cheeks flaming crimson with the discomfiture of the encounter. I felt far more earthy, as though I was unrefined, and she, in comparison, the very image of sophisticated exquisiteness.

“Yes, I like it too,” she stated, as though I had voiced my approval. “It is another example of the things we do here at Laxton that are well ahead of the times. I think it will catch on, don’t you?”

I wondered exactly how one shared such a fashion in polite society, and held my opinion.

“Here, I will fetch you a razor,” she said, stepping from beneath her shower. She paused to regard me for a moment, before adding, “And perhaps some scissors.”

She walked naked and dripping across the tiled floor to a medium-sized cabinet set against the wall. I couldn’t help but admire the firmness and shape of her derriere. She really was very beautiful.

She bent slightly to open a drawer beneath the cabinet and then looked back at me over her shoulder, and I blushed furiously and lowered my eyes, but not before I had seen her smile to have caught me peeking.

In a moment she had returned with three items: a pair of scissors with small, sharp blades; a stick of shaving soap; and a razor quite unlike the cutthroat blade I had seen my father use on rare occasion.

She saw my surprise. “It’s a new design. It’s called a ‘safety razor’.” She showed me how the small blade was mounted between two slim pieces of wood. “It is far easier to use under your arms. And elsewhere.” You will not cut yourself. It is another example — ”

“— Of the things we do here at Laxton that are ahead of the times?” I finished for her.

She laughed. “Take your time, but do not tarry. We are due in the servant hall at eight o’clock, and we need still to get you your uniform.” And with that she took a towel and left, wrapping it around her even as she walked out into the corridor.

Apprehensively, I eyed the items she had placed in my hands.

Surely my legs were the safest place to begin.

I placed the scissors on the shelf beside the shower and started with the stick of soap, stepping back under the shower to re-wet my skin and began to work up a lather. I grimaced at how quickly the long hairs on my legs served to raise the lather, feeling again that sense of unkempt hygiene in comparison to the smoothness of Lucy’s body. I shaved carefully, not fully trusting the safety razor, yet finished quickly and without incident. Afterwards, my legs and under-arms tingled, sensitive under the water spray as I rinsed off the remnants of the shaving soap. Regarding myself as best I could, I considered the effort well worth it.

I had been putting it off, but now had no choice but to consider the thatch between my legs. The thought of using the razor there – safety or not – did not inspire me, and anyway Lucy had not made it clear that I must be shaved like her. I spent some industrious moments with the scissors, trimming as short and as tidily as I could manage. Then, conscious of time, I cut off the shower and returned the shaving items back to the drawer. I discovered a small bowl for what looked like used razor blades and deposited mine accordingly.

“Hurry up, Emily,” I heard Lucy call from the corridor, and I quickly turned and grasped a towel, clutching it to me as I stepped from the shower room.

“There you are,” she said, and she was now fully clothed in her maid’s attire: white blouse with sleeves short from the shoulder, overlaid with a blue bodice, and a white skirt cut short well above the knee. A white hair clasp finished off the ensemble. The skirt seemed shockingly brief compared to the ankle-length garments I was used to wearing, but I could not help admiring the overall effect: it made her look delightful.

“Nice bottom,” came a masculine voice from behind me, and with a shriek I spun. My towel had been clutched only to the front of me with my naked derriere on display to the corridor behind. A footman walked past, dressed simply but smartly in shirt and trousers, a small smile on his lips.

I resisted the urge to glare at Lucy. I had assumed, because she had left the wash-room naked, still wrapping her towel about her, that the corridor was safe from male eyes. It was my own fault, and yet I felt somehow that I had been tricked. I wound the towel around me tightly, wishing that I could also hide the fierce blush that heated my cheeks.

Lucy was smiling too, and I had the sense that she was trying not to laugh. “At least he liked your arse.”

I had never referred to my bottom as an ‘arse’, and yet, when Lucy said it, it sounded pleasing. I smiled back shyly despite still smarting from the incident.

“We need to get you measured for your uniform, and quickly,” Lucy continued. “There is little time. Mrs Dempster will be waiting for us.”

“But—”

Lucy walked off, clearly expecting for me to follow.

Measured? Now? Wearing only this?

It must be another example of the way they did things at Laxton.

I swallowed hard, gripped the towel tightly, and followed her, barefoot, down the cold stone floor.

~*~

Chapter 2

Lucy led me through two corridors and a flight of steps, and though the distance was short, we passed several people. One serving girl smiled at me, welcoming; another glanced at me curiously. But I did not see the expression of the footman we passed because I had my eyes averted, blushing in my barely covered nakedness, trying to pull the hem of the towel lower past my bottom.

Finally, and with relief, we arrived at the fitting room, where I assumed we must at least be free of male eyes. Lucy waved me forward.

“Are you not coming in?” I asked her. While a near-stranger, she was the closest thing to a friend I had here, and my state of undress was making me feel far more vulnerable than usual.

“I’ll be back for you when you’re finished,” she said smiling, and I felt perhaps she was trying to reassure me. “I must needs briefly attend to another matter.”

“Quickly now,” came a voice from the room, and my consternation rose as I discovered that the most intimidating Mrs Dempster was waiting within. Lucy waved me forward, and I stepped inside tentatively.

“Come, come,” Mrs Dempster chivvied me again, and gestured impatiently to the centre of the room where two girls waited. I quickened my step to the point she directed, loath for her to think me a dawdler. As I passed her, she tugged away the towel, saying, in her matter-of-fact way, “You won’t be needing this.” And, just like that, I was rendered naked before strangers.

I opened my mouth to protest but closed it again, knowing it would be futile. I blushed to see their eyes on me and was horrified that the door stood wide open. No one had thought to shut it and I cursed my foolishness for not doing so myself, yet Mrs Dempster had rushed me so. I looked towards it nervously but could not manifest the courage to ask.

Despite my apprehension, the two serving girls attending smiled at me warmly and were very gentle as one went about gathering the measurements they required, while the other readied a clipboard. Yet it was a difficult experience for me: to have strange hands on my skin, brushing my breasts as they wrapped the tape measure around my bust, the coarse cloth rough against my nipples and squeezed quite tight; or asking me to raise an arm and measuring shoulder-to-wrist, my body exposed by this simple move, the door still wide open as I furtively checked again and again that no one was looking within. With each measurement the girl called out numbers which the other maid dutifully recorded with pen and paper, and I could not help feeling a little like cattle at a market.

At one point I tried to cover my nudity with my arm, in such a way that did not impede the taking of the measurements, but Mrs Dempster tutted quite loudly and muttered “Oh, really!” After that, I could not venture the courage to hide myself again.

The worst bit was when the girl knelt directly before me and politely asked me to spread my legs. I looked down at her, mortified, and to my further dismay heard footsteps in the corridor outside. I could not but obey, lest Mrs Dempster (who was watching all the while, her face severe as always) took umbrage. But it was anguish to stand still, the girl’s small hands sliding the tape measure slowly up my inner thigh, her fingers even brushing against my recently trimmed vulva, while I hoped and prayed that the person walking past the door was at least female.

She was, and yet she had a good look as she passed, even pausing in her step as she ran her eyes over my exposed, naked body.

I blushed intensely, hoping that this ordeal would soon be over. I knew already that I tended to blush easily, and it was always so obvious against my fair complexion. It seemed Laxton was hardly the place for a girl as innocent in life as I, and I could well imagine the number of blushes that would yet be drawn from me.

The girl with the tape measure bent down and laid it against my feet, which made me uncomfortable, not least because it tickled. Then she rose and wrapped it around the widest part of my hips, reading off the numbers with her eyes level with my pelvis. I could feel her warm breath against my skin.

Next, she stood and reached around me, her body almost pressing to mine as she looped the tape around my waist, and as she called out the last measurement she smiled at me. It seemed kind and genuine, but I was too wrought by this point to manage a smile back.

“Are we done then?” the ever-impatient Mrs Dempster demanded.

“Yes, Mrs Dempster,” replied the maid.

“The girls will bring you clothes and shoes in your size,” Mrs Dempster said to me. Then she turned to leave, to my horror with my towel still clutched in her hand.

I could not restrain myself, the thought of walking back to my room through the corridors entirely naked too much to bear. “Um… Mrs Dempster?” I blurted. She stopped, looking at me. “Please may I have my towel?” I asked, my voice so anxious it was almost a squeak.

She looked down at her hand as though surprised I would bother to ask, but handed it to me anyway. With the greatest relief, I wrapped it around me as she left.

It was not long before Lucy returned to take me back to our room. I was grateful, because the corridors were a maze, and all looked the same. To my happiness, we passed only one person on our return journey, and she, like the others, regarded me warmly.

I could not deny that so far, everyone had been very nice; I wished merely that I might have met them with some clothes on.

On returning to our room, we were not kept long before the girl who had undertaken the measuring (and whose name I still did not know, but later learnt to be Sarah) arrived with an armful of folded, pressed clothes, and a small bag containing two matching pairs of shoes. She smiled at me again as she left, and I was glad that she seemed to like me, given how good a look at me she’d had.

Lucy jumped up. “Let’s get you dressed,” she said, reaching for one corner of my towel and pulling it from me, throwing it into a hamper by the door.

Yet again, I was naked before this girl I had known for only a few hours, and I fought the urge to cover myself with hands and arms as she sat down on the bed next to mine and looked at me appraisingly.

“Much, much better,” she said frankly, running her eyes over my shaven legs and clean skin. I noticed her eyebrows rise slightly as she saw the finely-trimmed bush I had retained, but she did not comment. “I wish I had your breasts,” she added, wistfully.

I blushed again to have my anatomy so remarked upon, and though I was pleased that she thought me beautiful, I could not in good faith think myself her equal in that regard.

I turned and regarded the serving maid’s uniform.

“Oh,” I said, “they have forgotten a chemise. Should I use my own?”

“There’s no need,” Lucy replied from behind me, and I heard amusement in her tone. “It’s not part of the uniform.”

This piece of news was not encouraging, but I dutifully began with the white blouse, which was far thinner and more diaphanous than I had initially realised. I slipped it over my head, and it fell to brush against the top of my bottom. While thin, it was clearly very well made and was comfortable and gentle against my skin. There were no further undergarments, and I felt my cheeks tinge as I realised I must needs turn my back to Lucy and bend to retrieve my chest from beneath my bed, all while being exposed as I was, and with her looking on. Yet, there was nothing for it, and I could not bring myself to ask her to look away or leave.

I had my hand on the handle and was tugging it free when she spoke.

“While it is lovely to watch you present your bottom so, we are a little short of time, Emily. We should focus on finishing getting you dressed.”

The blush on my cheeks was fierce as I released my grip on the handle and quickly straightened, mortified by her words. Yet also it felt as though she had complimented me, and it was quite discomforting to know how to respond when it was my nakedness upon which she had commented.

“I was intending to retrieve my undergarments,” I muttered, by way of defence.

“You won’t need those,” Lucy replied, smiling, and to my consternation added, “they are not a part of the prescribed uniform either.”

I turned back to the clothes lying across my bed, while I considered the ramification of those words. It was shocking to discover that I was expected to be bare beneath my skirt, and with the skirt so much shorter than that which I was used to. I wondered at the possibility that Lucy was teasing me, yet the uniform Sarah had brought me certainly included no such garments. My uniform was, of course, the same as every other maid’s I had seen thus far, and in that, there was some comfort. I would not be naked; the skirt would obviously cover me, and I supposed that ultimately undergarments were, if not redundant, then arguably not a requirement to consider oneself fully dressed.

I chewed my lip nervously as I pulled on the soft, cotton skirt. I decided to assume that Lucy was having a joke, and the other girls wore their own underwear. For now, I would play along, not least because it avoided needing to bend over before her once more. But I resolved to reclaim my undergarments from my chest as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

My skirt was of very fine quality indeed, the material soft and satiny against my thighs. At least it had more weight than my blouse, but I would have to be careful to keep from bending too far, for it did not offer much cover to my bottom, which had already had more of a showing today than I might have wished.

Next, I picked up the bodice. I knew from Lucy’s, which of course was the same, that it came up over and supported the breasts, and tied at the front accordingly. It too was made of soft but good-quality material and, once tied, would serve to heighten my figure, accentuating the waist. Lucy’s made her look delightful, and I hoped, in a somewhat vain way, to be similarly regarded. But first, I had to put it on. I had never worn a bodice before.

Lucy watched, amused I think, as I struggled to seat it around my waist while tying the laces in front. After a short while she jumped up, laughing, though not in an unpleasant way.

“Let me help you,” she said, and I felt her body push against my back, her hands snaking around my waist, holding the two sides of the bodice in place.

“Thank you,” I replied, as I began to tighten the laces. One begins at the bottom and works slowly up towards the top; so did Lucy’s hands, inching closer towards my breasts. I did not think it was necessary for her to cup them – even if through the soft material of the bodice – but Lucy clearly thought it was. “Thank you,” I said again as I finished tightening it, and my voice was slightly more breathless the second time.

“My pleasure,” she said, sitting back down on her bed, grinning at me impishly.

Finally, the hair clip; my raven locks held back from my face accordingly and left to lie loose behind. Lucy furnished me with a white ribbon which I used to tie a simple ponytail.

“You’ll do,” Lucy said, smiling, with a slightly proprietary air. “Come, we must go down. It would not be wise to be late for this.”

I wondered as to the subtle emphasis on ‘for this’ as I followed her from the room.

The servant area was an enormous hall and in the centre was a table that could easily sit a score of diners. The room was already well occupied, and as Lucy and I entered, so did others through various doors. We gathered toward the foot of the table, and such was the size of the hall that plenty of space remained. Between us and the table stood Mrs Dempster and a girl I had not seen before. The gathering was largely female, each dressed as Lucy and me, but the exception were two gentlemen, one dressed in a formal dark suit and the other in the simple garments of the off-duty footman. I blushed furiously as I realised it was he who had so espied my bottom, earlier in the corridor. He had clearly noticed me and appeared to be grinning at my discomfort.

Rather than look at him, I regarded the girl that stood beside Mrs Dempster, and to my eyes she looked a most wretched thing. I wondered now as to the purpose of the gathering, but as I glanced at the clock standing against the wall, I found I was about to discover.

The room quietened as the clock chimed softly, eight times.

“As you know,” Mrs Dempster began, “Sally transgressed earlier today. We will now witness her punishment.”

Reflexively I slipped somewhat behind Lucy, as if trying to hide. I fully understood that maids sometimes erred, and presumably a punishment fitting the crime should be meted out, but from what little I had already come to see of Laxton, I could not suppress a feeling of foreboding.

The girl Sally had hung her head in shame while Mrs Dempster had spoken, but now she pulled on the ties of her bodice, unlacing them. As we watched, she slipped the bodice from her waist and tugged her skirt down, allowing it to pool on the floor.

I had to restrain a gasp, for she was now nude from the waist down, confirming what Lucy had said earlier: no undergarments were prescribed.

At that moment, dressed only in her blouse, the wretched girl turned a beseeching gaze to Mrs Dempster; but this was met only with a dismissive, “Continue.”

With a resigned air, she grasped her blouse and pulled it over her head, with not a stitch of clothing left to cover her.

It was not simply that she was on display to the various serving maids assembled, but that she was the centre of attention, naked for her discipline, and two men were present! I wondered now at their role in this, but again, I was not long kept waiting.

Sally turned around to face the table beside which she stood, and clearly aware of what was asked of her, she leant forward over it, reaching her arms out to support herself. Her bottom faced towards the assembled staff, her legs together and taut with the strain of supporting her as she stretched across the table. I could not help but notice that she was quite bare between the legs, and, like Lucy, showed not a single hair. Again, I was struck by how vulnerable and exposed her womanhood was, shaved smooth as it obviously had been. It was as if all vestiges of propriety were denied her in the position into which she had voluntarily presented herself.

It was blatantly obvious what was to happen next, though I could scarcely believe it.

The footman stepped forward and placed one hand flat on the small of Sally’s back. I presumed it was to restrain her. He raised his other hand, and I clenched my fists. There was an inevitability to it all, even though I was still incredulous. Then his hand came down, landing with a crack against her left bottom cheek.

I jumped at the noise, despite anticipating it. In the same moment Sally gasped at the impact, before her small voice cried, “One!”

The man raised his hand again, and this time it landed on her other cheek.

“Two!” gasped Sally.

The man continued in the same vein, alternating cheeks. I watched as they grew redder and redder, and as Sally counted on. After a while, I could not bear to see, and averted my gaze.

“Eighteen!” Crack.

“Nineteen!” Crack.

“Twenty!”

It appeared to be over. I risked a glance towards the poor girl, and gasped quietly at what I saw.

Rather than leave her now that he had finished his task, the man appeared to be rubbing her spanked behind. No doubt it would ease the sting from the spanking, but to be so fondled before so many! Then, as I watched, I realised something that would be obvious to all who could see: her naked, shaven vulva, so exposed, so framed within the apex of her legs, was clearly aroused, her wetness evident. Some combination of the humiliation, or the physical contact, or perhaps being on display, had enflamed her quite considerably. Had she not been quite so bare, perhaps there was a chance it would have gone unnoticed, but as she was, she had nowhere to hide. Indeed, as the man continued to rub her reddened buttocks, I thought I heard her emit a small moan.

I risked a glance at Lucy to see if she had noticed, but from the transfixed expression on her face, she clearly had. Lucy seemed not horrified, but more her expression was one of lust: her eyes sparkled, and her lips were parted just slightly, as she watched the spectacle before us.

I pulled my gaze from Lucy’s rapt expression and returned it to poor Sally, only to see that the man who had punished her, and then so blatantly groped her bottom, had now straightened, leaving her bent across the table. Surely, he had overstepped his role with his hands on her in such a way. Mrs Dempster must not have seen, or she would have intervened – though she had been watching closely, and I could not fathom how she had missed it.

Mrs Dempster appraised the faces of the watching serving girls, her face blank. When the footman stood back from his task, she addressed herself to the suited man.

“Are you satisfied?” she asked, as if offering to repeat the process if he gave even the slightest inclination.

To my relief, the man simply nodded, then walked towards the door. Several girls made to move quickly out of his way, eyes averted, and he was gone. I wondered who he was.

“That concludes tonight’s punishment,” said Mrs Dempster. “Thank you, Derek,” she added, turning to the footman.

I was confounded that she so thanked a man for laying his hands on the poor girl in such a rude way.

Sally eased herself up to a standing position, then gingerly re-dressed herself. I had no doubt how much her bottom must hurt, but I wondered if the humiliation of it all would not be the worst aspect to bear.

“Before we conclude, I would also like to welcome Emily as the newest member of our team,” Mrs Dempster said. At the mention of my name, my eyes snapped to her, and I felt a blush return to my cheeks. I was not sure whether I was more mortified to be the centre of attention, or that, just a second before, I had so blatantly been regarding Sally’s nakedness.

“Welcome, Emily,” Mrs Dempster said to me formally.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I replied and bobbed a little curtsy, hoping as it slipped out that the form of address was safe. She paused for a moment, then nodded. I exhaled quietly.

“That is all,” she said, and immediately the collected serving maids – of which I fancied there were easily thirty or more – began to move and speak amongst themselves. Most took seats at the large table, while others, as if by pre-arrangement, headed through two large doors into a kitchen.

With curiosity, I peered through and saw a truly enormous room – larger even than the servant hall – in which an organised bustle of activity could be observed with chefs and maids both. I saw food preparation areas against each wall, and a number of grand ovens. Several tables dominated the room, and on each were piled foodstuffs: vegetables and fruit, pies and sausages, flagons of drink and joints of cold meat. It was more food than I had ever seen in my life.

Lucy guided me to a seat beside her.

As I listened to the conversation, one thing was readily apparent: no one appeared as shocked as I by the spanking of Sally. In fact, I would describe most tones as ‘excited’.

The girl opposite us leant over and asked Lucy in a hushed whisper, “Did you see the bulge in Derek’s trousers?”

I looked up, startled.

“Oh, no!” Lucy exclaimed. “I couldn’t see from where we were standing!”

“Oh yes,” said another girl to Lucy’s right. “He was most clearly hard.” She giggled, as did several others.

“Who can blame him?” asked the first girl.

“I wouldn’t mind being spanked by Derek,” said one girl, wistfully.

“But not in front of everyone!” another replied.

To my surprise, the wistful girl did not immediately confirm this.

All in all, I had no idea what to make of the evening’s proceedings. I kept largely to myself as eventually the conversation moved on, and food was served. It was plentiful and delicious, though I had little appetite. I knew I should be hungry after the day’s early start, travel and new events, but the pre-dinner incident had left my stomach squirming and uncomfortable.

Fortunately, I was not asked to overly contribute; I was posed only a few questions concerning my home and family, which I answered quietly. After a while, Lucy said, “It is her first day,” and they regarded this as sufficient excuse, asking nothing further.

After dinner, several girls began to clear up, and again, the division of labour seemed pre-arranged. In any event, neither Lucy nor I were required to assist. Lucy remained seated at the table in the servants’ hall, talking with some of the other girls, while I, fascinated, watched the activity in the kitchen.

Though there was much to do, there were many hands and thus the work was done quickly. I considered this as they washed and cleaned up from our meal – and presumably also the one served earlier for other occupants of the house. My cousin Linda had said that there were three serving maids for twelve rooms in the house in which she worked. I thought that here, there must be at least thirty rooms, if not more – there was much of the estate I had yet to see and could only imagine. But we had at least thirty maids that I had seen so far. The division of labour was clearly far less onerous, and I wondered whether that would leave me with time for other duties, and if so, what they might be.

That evening, as we returned to our rooms, Lucy asked one of the other girls the question that had been on my mind all evening.

“Tracy, I wasn’t here this morning – why was Sally punished?”

I listened carefully, keen to avoid the same fate.

“She failed to swallow,” Tracy said as she turned out our light. “Apparently, she said it makes her gag.”

Lucy made an acknowledging noise, as if this answer didn’t seem strange to her.

I lay in the dark, my head on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling above me that I could not see.

It had been a most unusual first day.

Before I fell asleep, I resolved to myself that I certainly did not ever want to be in Sally’s position. I was not sure I would survive the humiliation of such a punishment.

Whatever else might happen in the coming days, I would most very definitely swallow anything I was asked to swallow.

~*~

Chapter 3

I must confess, I didn’t sleep particularly well.

Partly it was excitement about the new life I had entered into, the challenge of a new occupation, what my role might entail, and about the duties I might perform.

Yet in no small way it was my trepidation of the approach I had seen so far at Laxton – and what that might mean for my role, and the duties I was expected to perform.

Nevertheless, the following morning I was awakened at six o’clock by Mrs Dempster knocking on our door, accompanied by a brusque, “Up, girls, up!” She didn’t enter but I could hear her continuing down the corridor and knocking on the doors of the other girl’s rooms, most of which were in close vicinity.

Despite the early hour, the summer sun rose early, and there was already sufficient light to see. Lucy stretch in the bed beside me, and as the soft sheets and coarse blankets moved a little, it was apparent she slept naked. I had not observed this in the gloom of the previous evening, but I admit I now enjoyed the curve of hip and flank that Lucy showed me, and a pleasing flash of the curve of the side of her bosom. I lay there, wondering at myself, as I surreptitiously stole a further glance or two.

Tracy, the one who had answered Lucy as we went to sleep, was up first. It quickly transpired that she, too, chose to sleep without the fetters of nightwear.

I confess my eyes widened as she walked past, completely nude, opened the door to our room. Leaving it open, she continued off down the corridor.

She was soon followed by our fourth roommate, whose name I later gathered was Annie, and by that time, I was not surprised to see that she also evidently owned no pyjamas.

I felt considerably overdressed, attired as I was in a nightshirt and undergarments.

“Come on, lazy bones,” said Lucy, slipping from her bed in all her naked glory. “We can’t lie about all day.”

I would happily have watched her as she stretched, arms above her head, breasts rising and lifting as she arched her back, but I had no choice and must arise. To her credit, Lucy did not comment on my clothing. Instead, she watched me, apparently waiting for something. I was distracted by trying not to look at her breasts, again wondering at myself: I would never previously envisaged that I would find a girl like Lucy so appealing.

“Um... what do we do now?” I asked, feeling quite foolish, but awake barely a moment or two and already shocked into muddled thinking by the speed of the day and the volume of naked flesh.

“Bathe, silly!” said Lucy, and, giggling, reached for me, grasped the hem of my nightshirt, and pulled it over my stunned head. “Come on, if we’re not fast, we’ll have to wait!”

As I struggled to disentangle myself from my nightshirt, I felt her fingers slip into the waistband of my undergarments and pull them swiftly down my legs.

Thus far, it had seemed quite difficult to retain one’s clothing for long at Laxton. I sincerely hoped this situation would improve.

“After you,” she said, turning me naked towards the open door and the corridor beyond.

I hesitated at the threshold, reluctant to run out of my room into a corridor where I had previously encountered several people, not all of them female. I do not think, even in retrospect, that this was unreasonable; but it seemed to catch Lucy unawares, because I heard her surprised “Oh!” and, a moment later, felt her body press gently into my back.

I had hardly a moment to consider the sensation of her softness against me when she pulled herself away and delivered a slap to my behind, echoing loudly through our room. “Get along, slowpoke!” she instructed, and I picked up my reluctant feet and headed out into the corridor, my head awhirl by my nakedness, the touch of Lucy’s body and the mild yet not unpleasant tingle in my right bottom cheek.

There were several girls coming into the corridor from the side rooms as we stepped out, it being yet only two or three minutes since Mrs Dempster had roused us. I was quickly surrounded by them, all exuberant, chattering noisily, and all quite naked.

As far as I could see as I surreptitiously glanced around me, they were also completely hairless from the neck down. This made me seem strangely self-conscious about the hair I had elected to retain, but I stubbornly vowed that I would leave it just so until such time as I was instructed differently.

I could hardly envisage anyone here giving me such an order. To do so would be an unforgivable intrusion of my privacy.

Some of my reluctance was the thought of taking a razor to that part of myself, but largely I wished to retain it because to do so left a modicum of cover, a protection that the other girls lacked. This had been particularly evident when Sally had been bent across the table the day before. I did not yet feel I had the courage for such blatant, unfettered exposure.

Which is not to say I did not enjoy, very much, catching glimpses of Lucy’s smooth beauty.

As a gaggle, we made our way down the corridors to the washroom I had seen the day before. I hid amidst the crowd, using it as my cover, but we encountered no one else, save for some other similarly unclad girls who joined us from rooms adjoining the hallway. The washroom was already quite occupied, and our group paused to acquire certain items from the central table and quickly dispersed to the various available shower-heads. Some moved instead to the bathtubs in the centre of the room, while others to the unenclosed water-closets found at the far end.

I approached the centre table and observed a number of bathroom items: sponges, of the type we used at home only much larger; sprawling cotton puffs; various soaps; hand mirrors of various sizes; oils that I did not recognise; several clean razors and sticks of shaving soap; nail scissors and files. The selection seemed endless.

Yesterday, many of these items had been sequestered in the cabinet to the side (and I distinctly remembered watching Lucy bend to retrieve them), but clearly that would have been far less efficient a distribution for this many girls. Following Lucy’s example, I quickly chose a good-sized sponge and helped myself to soap, leaving the razors well alone. I followed her to the shower heads, thinking that if I must shower nude before strangers then being next to Lucy was surely preferable.

I soon had my shower presenting a decent-temperature spray, though understandably, the pressure of the water was quite a lot reduced compared to the day before. I thought hard about water pressure, plumbing, volume-to-flow ratios and related concepts as I soaped myself up with my sponge. Despite knowing very little about plumbing, this speculation was preferable to focusing on the events around me that were difficult to not see. To one side, Lucy washed her good-sized breasts as she chatted to the girl on the other side of her. To my other, two girls shared a shower and were evidently washing each other without the use of sponges, giggling as they did. Down the far end of the hall, girls attended to their toileting, apparently not at all uncomfortable to be doing so with spectators (I was not looking forward to that). It was generally a mayhem of naked, active, wet girls splashing water at one another as they laughed and went about their morning ablutions.

Initially there was far too much bare flesh given my reserved upbringing, but eventually I realised that there was an equality in all being nude, and that no one (other than I) seemed uncomfortable. Clearly it was a frequent – presumably at least daily – practice, and supposably one became used to it. I thought on the capacity of the human mind to accommodate even the most astonishing of revelations, given familiarity and sufficient time.

In that moment, I decided I was not going to be cowed and need no longer timidly face the wall, trying to hide myself. I resolved to be more open, freer with my outlook, and turned instead to face the room as I washed.

Lucy seemed to notice instantly and smiled at me. I was coming to learn that she was amazingly perceptive and experienced, and thus it was perhaps no mere coincidence that she had been assigned as my guide during these initial days.

She stepped from her shower to mine, and I moved to give her room beneath the water. Another girl quickly took Lucy’s previous place as the washroom continued to fill up.

I looked nervously into Lucy’s eyes, my new-found boldness retreating under her sudden proximity.

“Would you like me to wash your back?” she asked quietly.

Though I hesitated for a moment, her generous smile persuaded me. I managed a jerky nod, turning to face away, and presented my back to her.

At her behest, I placed my hands on the wall behind the shower to brace myself, all too aware of how exposed this made me. Immediately I felt her hands on me, rubbing soap suds over my shoulders and following it with her sponge. I felt my breath catch in my throat to be so touched, not having been bathed by another since I was an infant. Now a girl of stunning beauty stood behind me, soaping my skin. Quickly the sponge travelled down my back, moving in spirals as Lucy cleaned me, and so good did it feel that I was loath for it to be over too soon. Lucy had other ideas though, or a broader definition than I of the word ‘back’, for the sponge fell to the floor near my feet, and a moment later I felt her hands washing my bottom, as much a caress as a cleansing.

She squeezed both cheeks and my breath caught again, and I was torn between wishing to push myself back into her touch or lean forward to give her better access.

“You have a delicious bottom,” she whispered, her mouth suddenly next to my ear, and I felt her breasts press against my back, slippery and warm. At the same time, her hands spread my bottom cheeks, and her fingers slipped inside my crack, stroking lightly. I gasped in shock, my hips bucking, and it was fortunate that I had the support of the wall, for my legs felt weak.

All too soon she finished, and with a rude, startling slap to one cheek she announced, “You’re done.”

It took me a moment to steady myself; my breathing was rapid and light, and my stomach was doing flips.

“Do me, please,” she said, stepping past me, and on trembling legs I moved back, giving her room as she slipped under the showerhead in front of me. She placed her hands on the wall just as I had done, her gorgeous bottom pushing back towards me a little.

How could I resist.

As I soaped up my sponge and applied it to her shoulders, I considered my reaction to her. Admittedly, I had surprised myself by how much Lucy intrigued me. She was kind and perceptive, and I had seen enough of her personality to know her to be also playful and mischievous. She was as beautiful naked as she was clothed, and quick to touch. Objectively, there was no denying that women are beautiful (and perhaps not more than men, but in a different, softer way that held universal appeal) and I say that even now without reference to sexuality, but merely a statement of aesthetics: the form of a woman is most pleasing on the eye. And Lucy’s form in particular.

Even so, I was careful not to touch her, except with the sponge. I feared being regarded as being too forward, were I to touch her, even inadvertently, in a way that might offend. The whole situation made me nervous – albeit in a way that perhaps, secretly, I enjoyed. I did not yet know, nor understand, the rules here at Laxton. I was also not certain of my own feelings in this matter. I had been thrust into a world of nakedness and femininity that I had never even so much as dreamed was possible, and my reserved upbringing was fighting with the extremes of hedonism that seemed to define Laxton.

Perhaps this was why my sponge was applied with a cautious air. Immediately I heard her murmur, “Harder.” I applied myself with more vigour, but again it was not enough for her. “Without the sponge, please. It is too soft.”

I swallowed, anxious, but dropped the sponge as bid, using both my hands across the slick wetness of her shoulders and across and down her back. She seemed to purr in response, arching under my touch. My eyes were on her perfectly-shaped bottom as it pushed out towards me. Once I had done her shoulders and back I slowed, hesitating, expecting her to stop me, as clearly the other areas she could reach herself.

She, however, had other designs. “Mmm, lovely,” I heard her say, and then, “Go lower.”

I hesitated, having already washed down to the small of her back.

She wiggled her bottom at me.

I slipped my hands down, feeling her smooth arse slick with soap and water under my palms, almost expecting her to straighten and thank me, and feared the coolness with which she would do so and the distance our relationship might then acquire. It mattered not that, just a moment earlier, she had soaped my derriere with delight; what she did to me and I to her were, in my mind at least, very different matters.

Yet as my hands slid over her soapy rump I was met only with a quiet murmur of approval, and as I concentrated on first one buttock and then the other, watching as the bubbles collected in the exquisite crack between her cheeks, she simply pushed her bottom out towards me a fraction more.

“Lower, please, Emily,” she said.

Lower still?

I chewed nervously on my lip but did as bid; it would be churlish to refuse after how nice Lucy had been to me. I convinced myself that I was obliging out of polite courtesy, unwilling to admit the curiosity that was burning inside me to further feel her skin beneath my hands, and to run my eyes for longer over her exposed nudity. Lowering to a kneel behind her, one knee to the slick tiles of the washroom floor, I let my hands glide slowly down the back of her thighs, washing first one leg than the other. She spread her legs slightly, I’m sure to make the task easier for me. But I could not help but find my position incredibly intimate, her bottom jutting back, her legs spread, with me between them, looking up at her nakedness, her ever-so-close nakedness… and at her smooth, perfect, shaven vulva.

“Are the two of you almost finished?” came a voice from behind me, and I started so much I almost lost my balance. Lucy jumped too, and I wondered if she had been as lost in the moment as I.

I stood quickly and turned around, unable to hide the deepness of the blush that came upon me in being caught in such a tableau, but Lucy was perfectly collected and unruffled.

“Yes, just about,” she said, stepping directly under the shower to rinse off the soap.

It had been only a few moments since we had entered the washroom but now it was very busy, and it was clear to see that there were several girls waiting their turn.

Lucy finished rinsing. “Come here, Emily,” she said, taking me gently by the hand and pulling me under the shower.

I did not resist but had to bite my lip again as I felt her run her hand over my wet skin; presumably, ostensibly, to rinse off soap I had missed. Her palm ran flat over my shoulder and down over one breast and then the other, and she was clearly most diligent for I could not see any soap there. I felt her hand pressing against my nipple briefly before slipping down over my stomach, and I fought to repress a shiver as I felt her fingertips brush fleetingly through my remaining curls. She went no lower, but instead made to check the rest of me, slipping her other hand down my back and over my bottom, rubbing first one cheek and then the other, and finishing with a pleasurable squeeze.

I was certain it was unnecessary, but I didn’t see any reason to object. By now I had just come to accept that this was the way Lucy was: unperturbed by nudity, quick to touch, gracious and generous. If her nakedness and intimacy made me quite nervous, this was simply my response to her, and I should not blame her for my reactions nor judge her through my eyes. Meanwhile, I resolved to simply enjoy it – and what was wrong with being bathed by another, a task that many have relished since the dawn of time?

In any event, she was soon finished. We stepped from the shower, minding our way across the wet floor, and soon found dry towels that had been placed on warm metal pipes – another Laxton innovation. They were gloriously heated and wonderful to wrap around us. I marvelled at such a simple a luxury as a warm towel, which I had never experienced before coming to this remarkable place. I wrapped it around me slowly as I revelled in its warmth, reflecting on the life I now led and the whirlwind of experiences this new day had already brought.

My reverie was interrupted as I became aware that Lucy was smiling at me again.

“Did I do something wrong?” I asked her, nervously.

“No, not at all,” she said, smiling wider. “But sometimes you seem to lose yourself in a fleeting moment. I find it endearing.”

What she said about losing myself in a moment I knew to be all too true, but her use of the word ‘endearing’ made me blush again. I knew I had blushed many times before her already, for the pace of events at Laxton had been quite a challenge in light of my inexperience and evident naivety. Yet despite that excuse, I found it embarrassing to be seen as virtuous, as the reddening of my cheeks surely proclaimed, and such was the way my mind worked that, upon this realisation, my blush only deepened.

Lucy laughed. “Come, let us go back to our room. The day will start very soon, and we must get ready.”

I followed her from the washroom, though this time I ensured my towel was wrapped well around me before stepping out into the corridor.

~*~

Chapter 4

We had made it back before Tracy and Annie, and in our rooms we quickly dried off and towelled and brushed our hair.

To my surprise, I was becoming more accustomed to being naked before Lucy. She, of course, had never shown any reservations about being nude before me.

“Mrs Dempster asked me to send you down to the doctor first thing,” she told me as we dressed in our uniforms, and seeing my anxious look added, “this is perfectly normal for new girls. They simply perform a routine check-up.” This settled my nerves a little. “After that, I will show you the rota and explain the assignment of duties.”

“Thank you,” I said.

She smiled at me, then stepped very close and took my face gently in her hands. It caught me by surprise, and before I could think to react, she kissed my lips. “You’re very welcome,” she said, smiling, stepping back. My hand reached up to where her lips had brushed mine, and I looked at her with wide eyes.

“I couldn’t resist,” she said impishly. “You’re just so adorable!”

I smiled shyly back at her. Her charm was irresistible, and though her kiss had been most unexpected, it had not been unpleasant. Indeed, it had seemed most tender and expressive, a clear sign of her esteem and affection, and I was glad that we were building such a fine friendship. Only I couldn’t understand why my stomach had flipped when she’d come so close, or why my heart had raced so as I’d felt her lips on mine. I chewed my lip nervously as I regarded her and wondered at myself for my own reaction.

She gave me directions to the doctor’s rooms, with instructions that I should attend for eight o’clock and that she would see me afterwards, then left with her usual energy and enthusiasm. Tracy and Annie arrived a moment later, clad in their towels and with Annie chattering gaily.

I smiled at them both and made my way from our room, first seeking out a water-closet that was not as open as the ones in the washroom – my courage was not yet up to such levels. I had observed some in proximity to the servants’ hall, which (according to Lucy’s directions) was anyway close to the doctor’s rooms.

It was only just gone seven o’clock (there was the clock in our room and several timepieces spread throughout the servants’ quarters, which made much sense as it would not do to ever be late) so I first breakfasted in the dining hall, thinking this early it would be less busy, and sat quietly by myself at one corner of the table. I ate little, still feeling nervous, and was quickly finished. The food was plentiful and looked delicious, but with my mind dwelling on my recent interaction with Lucy, I could not recall what I had eaten or how it had tasted. I left as soon as I could.

After breakfast, I spent some time wandering around, exploring, and trying not to get in anyone’s way. There was a maze of stone corridors and stairways connecting the rooms of the servants’ quarters: washroom, hall, kitchen, sleeping areas and even what seemed to be our own drawing room. The latter was expansive and featured a very large fireplace (dormant in the heat of summer) with several comfy chairs. I was surprised to find it occupied by several girls who greeted me warmly as I entered. I made excuses to not join them, saying I was just exploring, and they carried on their conversations. Clearly there were more girls than work to do in Laxton, and I reflected again on the comparison to my cousin Linda’s employment.

Shortly before eight o’clock, I found my way to the doctor’s room. The door was closed. Hoping I was expected and that it wasn’t too early, I knocked tentatively. The door opened almost immediately as another girl left; she was holding her hand over her mouth and looked like she was struggling not to vomit. She ignored me as she rushed past.

I did not find this particularly encouraging.

A male voice said, “Come!” and, steeling myself, I entered.

The room was lushly decorated with thick carpet and dark wood. To one side stood a chaise lounge of a plushness I had never seen before, and to the other, a sturdy-looking table at about waist height. Several large bookcases covered the walls, each shelf stuffed with volumes. Though various other items of furniture sat within, the room was so large it seemed far from cluttered.

The doctor sat at an imposing desk set under the window but stood as I entered. He wore a dark, three-piece suit. He was a middle-aged man, clean shaven and handsome after a fashion. I estimated he was perhaps in his early forties, though he lacked the paunch that I had come to expect from men that age. In fact, he looked quite lean beneath his suit.

I almost missed a step as I realised I had seen him previously: he was the man who had attended for Sally’s punishment the day before.

“You must be Emily,” he said, regarding me, his manner formal and quite stern.

“Yes, Sir,” I replied, and bobbed him a curtsy. I wondered why he had chosen to attend Sally’s punishment. At first, I thought he might be there to assure her well-being due to the nature of it, but then I recalled that afterwards Mrs Dempster had asked him if he were satisfied. This suggested he was the instigator. I swallowed nervously.

“Good,” he said, watching me. “Are you anxious, girl?”

“A little, Sir,” I replied honestly.

“Well, there’s no need for that,” he said in a dismissive, matter-of-fact way that did little to calm me. “And you should address me as ‘Doctor Lyme’ or simply ‘Doctor’.”

“Yes, Doctor,” I replied.

“Close the door, if you would.”

I did as bid, and when I turned back, he was sat again at his desk, regarding me.

“It is my happy duty to ensure new girls to Laxton are suitable for their roles,” he informed me, not sounding particularly happy about this duty. “I will ask you some questions and then perform a simple examination.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“So first, your date of birth is the sixth of April 1878, which makes you twenty years of age?” he asked, conferring with a piece of paper on his desk.

“Yes, Doctor,” I confirmed, frowning slightly as I was certain I had not shared my birth date with anyone here. I realised my father must have provided the information. I wondered why, and what else he might’ve shared.

He nodded. “I also see that you have never had a romantic relationship, and never travelled away from your family.”

I blinked, curious as to why they would need to know such things.

The doctor looked up, expectantly.

“Um, yes, Doctor,” I acknowledged. I squirmed uncomfortably, not least because of the half-truth I had just told.

“I presume, therefore, that you are a virgin,” he said, and his gaze was piercing, holding me to the spot when I would’ve preferred to have fled and hid. He had not specifically asked me, and thus I dallied in my response. My hesitation was clearly too long for him. “Answer the question, please.”

Drat.

“Um, not quite, Doctor, no,” I replied, feeling a blush rise. I recalled a slight dalliance with Terry, a boy in our village, and how one afternoon in a field he had taken things further than I had wished.

“‘Not quite’?” he echoed, and one eyebrow slowly rose as he stared at me.

“I mean no, Doctor,” I said, looking down, and could feel the heat emanating from my bright-red cheeks.

“Really.” He frowned down at his sheet, disapproval evident in his whole demeanour.

“Yes, really,” I said, and he looked up sharply. Even to me it had sounded defensive and snappish. “…Doctor,” I added lamely, then: “It was not my choice.” But now it sounded like I was making excuses. I closed my mouth, awash with shame.

His frown deepened as he dipped his pen in his ink and made a point of deliberately drawing two neat lines through the offending note on the sheet, almost as if the source of his disapproval wasn’t my evident impropriety, but the erroneous nature of the information he had been given. I sat in silence as he made some further notes, trying not to squirm in my chair.

“Very well,” he said when he was done. “You will be required to accede to an examination.”

“Please may I ask what manner and purpose the examination has?”

“It is common practice to ensure that employees are fit and healthy, and this examination serves that purpose. In your particular case I will also need to determine you are not with child.”

It was as if he thought my single unwelcome encounter implied I had led a positively sinful life.

“It was some time ago now, Doctor.” I sought to reassure him, or perhaps I was trying to extricate myself from what was already a very uncomfortable situation.

But he was not to be gainsaid. “I will determine that for myself, if you please.”

“Yes, Doctor,” I said, resigned.

“Please remove your clothes and climb up onto the table,” he said.

It was inevitable, I supposed.

“Yes, Doctor.” I rose and began to undress.

He ignored me, rising from his chair and walking to the table, taking a clean sheet from a pile folded on the nearby dresser, and laying it over the hard wood. He watched me then, expectantly and impatiently, and I hurried to remove the last of my clothing.

Feeling very self-conscious and extremely uncomfortable, I walked quickly to the table while trying in vain to cover my nudity with my arms. There was no way to climb atop without fully revealing myself, and again felt a sense of resignation as I knew my modesty would not survive this encounter. As gracefully as I could manage, I pulled myself into position.

“Lie down and place your arms flat beside you, please,” he instructed. “Quickly now.”

So much for modesty. I moved to lie down as he had bid.

The table was extremely hard and cold, and the sheet very thin. It was impossible to get comfortable. He frowned at my attempts, and I realised I would have looked like I was wriggling for his attention. I blushed furiously, this adding significantly to my feeling of exposure.

He examined me, and though his manner was mostly brusque there was an efficiency and clear professionalism about his actions. He commenced with my abdomen, his hands cold and his touch firm. Apparently satisfied I was not, as I had attested, with child, he took out his stethoscope and listened to my chest, taking a moment to explain that healthy lungs were important in an active role at Laxton. The metal was cold on my skin as he placed it just above and between my breasts, and he frowned again as I squirmed slightly. After that I tried to hold still, save for the deep breaths he instructed me to take.

“I will now check your muscle tone and flexibility,” he declared, and proceeded to prod me with his fingers in my ribs, flanks and belly. I was then instructed to bend arm and leg to his direction. I was told to raise my hands above my head and lift my hips from the sheet, and as I struggled to hold this position he measured angles with an adjustable V-shaped medical device that I did not recognise. Next, I must raise one knee then the other as far towards my chest as I could, while again he had me hold still as he measured my position.

It was at this point that the door opened, without so much as a preliminary knock, and Mrs Dempster walked in.

“Hold still, girl,” he reprimanded me, as I had started when the door had been opened. I also noticed that, as during my measurement for my uniform the day previously, Mrs Dempster was evidently not improved in the habit of closing doors behind her.

“Is she giving you trouble, Doctor?” Mrs Dempster asked as she walked up to the table, looking down at me as I raised a knee toward my chest, as naked as the last time she’d been this close to me.

The doctor grunted in response. “Turn over, please.”

I complied quickly, keen to ensure I did not displease the two people who had so very recently arranged a most effective spanking of another girl.

“Place your hands beside your shoulders and raise your chest as far as possible from the sheet,” he instructed. I did as bid, feeling my back stretch, too nervous to even think of questioning the need for all this manoeuvring of my person.

Doctor Lyme was standing beside me, intent on his measuring instrument. He seemed quite oblivious to my breasts as they came clear of the table, despite his proximity. He continued his work with a perfectly clinical detachment, taking another measurement.

I suddenly felt a warm hand on my cold bottom, and again started in surprise at the touch. I could see the doctor’s hands in my peripheral vision. It was not him touching me.

“She does have a nice bottom,” Mrs Dempster commented, her hand running lightly across my cheek.

The doctor straightened and folded away his instrument. “We are almost finished. Stand here, please,” he said, indicating a spot beside the table. I pushed myself to a seating position and swung my legs off the table, stepping to where he indicated. This left Mrs Dempster on the far side of the table, but she immediately walked around so that her view was not impeded.

“Touch your toes, keeping your legs straight.”

This was unfortunate, as I knew Mrs Dempster to be directly behind me. I also did not see the necessity of this, and wondered what medical basis it might have. I was briefly tempted to object, but I supposed my flexibility did present some small measure of evidence to my general health, and in any event I knew better than to question or refuse. Avoiding a fate similar to Sally’s remained foremost in my mind, and I was with the two people who had arranged that very event.

With such thoughts predominant, I obeyed his instruction, focusing on bending at the waist and not the knee. I am quite limber and did not find this too challenging, so I put every effort into performing the task as well as I could, in the hope we would be finished more quickly.

“Hold the position, please,” I heard the doctor say.

Blood was rushing to my head; partly because of the position and partly because of the view I knew I would be giving Mrs Dempster. I was trying very hard not to think about it, but I could not help but blush at the awkwardness of the position I now found myself.

I felt Mrs Dempster’s hand on my bottom and struggled not to start as she stroked her fingertips idly from one cheek to the other.

Was this part of the examination, or merely a casual appraisal?

The time seemed to crawl along while Mrs Dempster’s hand caressed my derriere, and I waited for the doctor to be satisfied. I was beginning to feel the strain in my legs before I heard his voice.

“You can get dressed, Emily.”

I straightened swiftly – perhaps too swiftly, as I immediately felt light-headed, and had to catch myself for a moment on the table for support. The feeling passed, though, and I moved to re-clothe myself, hoping the examination was over.

Mrs Dempster stood by, watching me frankly as I attired myself once more in my uniform. I was not entirely sure what her interest in me was, nor the purpose of her touches during the medical examination. Meanwhile, the doctor appeared to be at a cabinet, carefully pouring a thick, dark liquid from a teapot that had been sitting upon a small flame.

Once dressed, he brought it over to me. “You are required to drink this,” he said. “It is an herbal tincture of Pennyroyal and Queen Anne’s Lace, which you will need to imbibe once a week. I warn you, it is quite tart.” He handed me the concoction in a small teacup.

I sniffed at it tentatively. It smelled mildly fragrant, like a mint tea. I raised the glass to my lips and took a sip. The taste was overpoweringly astringent, and I fought the reflex to spit it out.

“What is it for, doctor?” I enquired, partly to delay the moment when I would need to swallow the revolting liquid.

“It is to prevent… accidents,” he said, and the reply – and his careful word choice – made me wonder what it was I was being asked to consume. I made a mental note to ask Lucy; she was sure to know.

Again, my hesitation had been noticed. “You are required to drink it all,” he said, by way of direction.

Suddenly the reason for Sally’s punishment the day before became exceedingly clear, along with the discomfort of the girl who had preceded me. I now found an ironic relevance in my promise to myself the night before. I took another mouthful; its thickness was cloying in my throat, and the sourness almost caused me to gag. Steeling myself, I forced down all the warm, bitter liquid while they both watched me.

“Well done,” said Doctor Lyme. It was the first kind thing he had said to me. “You will be required to attend for further doses every week, as per your rota.”

“Yes, Doctor,” I said, as I fought to control my heaving stomach. I would not look forward to that.

“For now, you are dismissed.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” I said, and with a quick bob to both him and towards Mrs Dempster I made towards the exit, trying not to show my haste to leave.

“You’re right, she does have a spankable bottom,” I heard him say as I departed.

And I thought he hadn’t noticed.

~*~

Chapter 5

Lucy was to meet me after my appointment with the Doctor, but I had no wish to loiter anywhere that Mrs Dempster was known to be. It wasn’t that I disliked her – to be fair, I hadn’t really had a chance to get to know her – but I found her more than a little intimidating, not least because she held ultimate power over my future at Laxton.

Unfortunately, Lucy had not arrived after ten or fifteen minutes past our agreed rendezvous time, and I was sure that I did not want to be found still waiting outside the Doctor’s office when Mrs Dempster had concluded her business therein. Just as I was beginning to get quite anxious, my roommate Annie arrived. I had not yet had the opportunity to get to know Annie, save for when she walked naked past my bed earlier that morning, but that hadn’t seemed the best time for introductions. However, she greeted me with a warm smile, handed me a folded piece of paper, bid me a pleasant day, and skipped off happily down the corridor.

The note was from Lucy:

Emily,

I regret that I have been detained and will be unable to meet you as planned. However, the day is beautiful and as you will have no work until tomorrow at the earliest, may I recommend you explore the grounds in the sunshine. I will meet you for lunch by the pool. I am sure you will find it without difficulty, but should you need, anyone will be able to direct you.

Yours,

Lucy.

I read it twice, and each time was drawn to the simple valediction: yours. Such a delightful word. I carefully folded the note and placed it in the pocket of my skirt.

The morning, it seemed, was mine – and certainly it was a most beautiful day. I resolved to waste no more of it and was equally keen to be away from the Doctor and Mrs Dempster. I made off down the hallway, trying to remember my way to the nearest door that led outside.

The grounds of Laxton were extensive, to say the least. I had heretofore not had the chance to explore them, having seen only what was observed during my carriage ride on arrival (and it was hard to believe that was but yesterday, for so much had already happened), or had since deduced from the chatter of the girls. I had learnt, for example, that there was a large stable and several greenhouses, which grew fruit and vegetables all year around. While such horticulture wasn’t unheard of, it was hardly widespread: in this, too, was Laxton quite considerably advanced. I was keen to see the greenhouses, having quite an interest in flowers and plants.

It transpired that the door I had chosen had led me outside to an area laid to lawn, most beautiful with borders of carefully maintained flowers and remarkable topiary. Everything was perfectly in its place, and I was quite content to spend some time wandering around, exploring the grounds in the sunshine. I had been delighted to find, beside the door leading out, a table with a number of wide-brimmed, woven, wicker sun hats, and I had taken one of these to protect me from the sun’s rays. It was a wonderfully thoughtful touch, and yet another example of Laxton efficiency.

The sun was pleasantly warm, already promising a glorious day, and it was with a feeling of complete freedom that I wandered that morning as my heart led me, from garden to garden. Much of the time I was quite near the house itself, with its numerous windows looking down upon me. Yet despite the size of the house, I found it pleasantly architected and welcoming in its design and aspect. I recalled that I had originally found it foreboding and intimidating, but I am glad to say I did not find it so now. It had already grown on me considerably.

A short while later I rounded a corner and espied the greenhouses, which had been the original target of my morning’s adventure. From where I was, I could see the tops of several large nurseries, and it was clear they had been built on lower ground, in a hollow within the gardens, its edges too steep to be natural. It was an effective way of keeping the greenhouses from blighting the gardens of Laxton, but I thought it unnecessary; to me, at least, they had their own appeal.

I could see four, judging from their rooves, though it was difficult to be sure because they were so large. As I walked closer, the gravel path that I was on appeared to run the length of the closest greenhouse, but on comparatively higher ground, and thus it would give a perfect, elevated, view inside. Maybe that was the reason for the hollow, to better display the greenhouses’ contents.

Through the walls I could see a plethora of flowers, plants and shrubs. The greenhouse fit quite snugly up against the raised path and as such I enjoyed a clear view within. I eagerly made my way along the path, pausing now and then to note a distinctive variety of particular beauty – orchids, camellias, and roses abundant.

It wasn’t until I reached the second greenhouse that I observed two figures within, and almost immediately heard their voices. I stopped in surprise when I noticed that one of them was the footman I had already encountered twice during my time at Laxton: once when he was busy spanking Sally on my first day; the other just prior to that, when he had come up behind me as I left the washroom naked, save for a towel held only to the front, and commented on the niceness of my bottom. I blushed again at the thought, thinking what an eyeful he must have had.

The other person was one of the maids. She had her back to me, and I did not recognise her. They were clearly conversing, standing beside a long trestle table that ran the length of the greenhouse between them and me. Presumably it was used for various plant-related tasks, but it was mostly empty near where they stood, and the footman was leaning against it.

It was the body language of the encounter that, I think, made me pause to watch. He was relaxed, open; nonchalant even. In contrast, she seemed quite tense, almost anguished; though this was more of an impression, derived from the tension in her shoulders and the agitated way her hands moved as she spoke, for from behind her I could not see her expression.

I suspected that they did not know I was there. In real terms, they were only twelve or fifteen feet from me, though my perspective was elevated and looking down at them from an angle, but there were creepers growing high up against the walls and the raised path itself increased my security. In point of fact, they would’ve had to look up and through the higher window, between two branches and a thickness of plant leaves in order to see me. The window through which I peered was slightly ajar – presumably as a method of controlling temperature or humidity – and though the opening was very small, it allowed me to hear their voices. I imagined that the angle of the glass served the further purpose of reflecting the light within. I thought it probable this only obscured me further, at the very least making it unlikely that they would spot me with a casual glance.

Besides, they were clearly caught up with one another.

I crouched lower on the path to better see through the glass and hoped no one else came by, for I was keen to see how this intriguing encounter resolved itself. While in truth I was a little surprised at myself that I was spying, there was something quite compelling about their encounter: her body language juxtaposed to his, and the tone of her voice too. It was frustrating that while I could just hear her voice – and his rumble when he occasionally replied – their conversation was too muffled to make out the words.

Yet after a time listening and watching it seemed apparent that she was pleading with him. To the objective observer (which I fancied I was), his body language seemed quite open to whatever she was requesting, but nonetheless she continued to try to persuade, indeed, almost to wheedle and cajole, such was her intonation.

As I watched she moved to face him, he turning in kind to lean backward against the table behind him, and now I was presented with his back but her face. I knew I had seen her before, but I could not quite remember when or where.

His voice came through as a rumble, and though I could not make out the words the inflection seemed somewhat imperative. Her response was slow at first, yet as I watched, my eyes growing wider by the second, she raised her hands to the front of her bodice, and gradually untied the fastenings.

We both watched, he and I, as she pulled the laces loose all the way down, then took each side of the open bodice in her hands and pulled them wide, freeing her breasts from their captivity. I stifled a gasp, covering my mouth with my hand. She looked up at him in a way that could only be that of one seeking approval from another.

The footman waited, unmoving and saying nothing, seemingly content to see what she would do next.

Apparently disconcerted by his lack of response, she pulled her bodice from her shoulders, and began to unbutton her blouse. I felt my breath quicken as I watched her slowly undress before him, her breasts gradually exposed, until at last she pulled the garment over her head, casting it casually on to the table beside them, and she was bare down to the waist. Again she looked up at him, seeking approval, an entreating expression on her pretty face. I held my breath, mesmerised by her blatant nakedness before his apparent indifference, but it seemed this time she had succeeded in eliciting a response: he raised one hand and, as I watched, placed his palm over her left breast. She visibly shuddered at his touch, though evidently not from revulsion. She seemed to move slightly, and I sensed she had pushed her breast into his hand, seeking a firmer touch then he had deigned to allow.

After a brief caress, he removed his hand and I heard him say one word. I still could not make it out, but she responded by unfastening her skirt and pushing it down over her hips.

Even though I could not see due to the footman’s obscuring position, such was the uniform of the serving maid that I knew, as she bent forward to push her clothing lower, that she would be revealing herself completely to his eyes. She freed one leg and then the other and stood, completely naked, her skirt in her hands. This she also tossed carelessly onto the table to one side, and once more stood for his inspection.

I was amazed at how forwardly she had so stripped for him, and how naked and vulnerable she now looked. Though part of me was shocked by this turn of events, another part of me was unsurprised: this seemed somehow fitting in the hedonistic world of Laxton. I knew what would inevitably follow but felt unable to leave. I did, however, glance quickly up and down the path I was on to ensure no one was to stumble across my voyeurism; it seemed that for now, I was still alone.

When I looked back the footman pushed himself up from the table and moved to one side. For a brief moment I could see the naked maid in all her glory before, to my surprise, she stepped toward the table and slowly leaned herself over it, her arms outstretched across it and her body bent over. Her naked bottom faced the footman, offered up to him. And in that moment, I remembered where I had seen her: she had been the wistful girl who, yesterday, following the disciplining of Sally, had expressed a desire to discover what it might be like to have a similar encounter with this particular footman. It seemed she had sought him out, and now had her wish.

Much like he had done with Sally, he stepped forward and placed a hand on the small of her back to hold her in position. She visibly shivered at his touch, and I heard a murmur of the small moan she emitted. Next came the inevitable: he drew back his other hand and, with a crack that I heard clearly, administered a sharp spank to her deliciously-offered naked derriere.

She cried out softly, but it was not a cry of distress; it was the sound of pain mixed with pleasure both, the fulfilment of a wish, and the promise of more to come.

Unlike his spanking of Sally, he did not seem inclined to merely administer a punishment and finish. He was taking his time, and though I could not see her bottom it was clear from the way his hand moved that he was caressing her cheek after that first spank.

Then he withdrew his hand and delivered a second strike to her other buttock, again following with a soothing, sensual caress. Her small cry became a moan at his touch, and I saw her body tremble slightly in throes of apparent pleasure and pain combined.

I had not before considered that pain might be intertwined with pleasure, but my obvious naivety was fast departing before the rapid education of Laxton’s way of life. No one who witnessed this activity could possibly deny the pleasure she found in the spanking that was being applied as, crack after smack he delivered a dozen, two dozen blows to her naked posterior. During my reflection I recalled, also, that Sally had been aroused by being so spanked; at the time I had thought this strange, but now, seeing the wistful girl close her eyes, her mouth slightly open, it was clear even to me that this was no punishment, but entirely a sexual act.

Yet there was something that captivated about her expression, some strong emotion reflected within her features that I could not immediately place. No mere lust, but something compelling, deep, and core to what she was experiencing. While I wondered on this, he continued to steadily apply sharp spanks, and each time he caressed her afterwards, taking his time to squeeze and stroke her bottom, and as he did so the strength of her response seemed only to intensify.

And then, suddenly, I was able to put a name to the emotion I was observing wrought across her features: it was humiliation. A visceral thrill ran through my own body as I witnessed how she revelled in the sensations he subjected her to, while also losing herself in the intensity of such an emotion, and with each strike her moans grew deeper and her expression more intense.

Then he changed his approach, and I watched as he swiftly delivered a further dozen spanks, each short and sharp to her by-now surely sore behind, and she cried out constantly as he rained these strikes upon her. When he had finished, his hand did not appear to go to her bottom but seemed to go lower, between her legs. Even I could work out what that must mean, and it was evident in the sound of a new cry, as she came up on her toes, lifting her arse further, her back arching, and basked once more in the pleasure following the sting.

He took his time there, too, and soon the girl was gasping, her body writhing under the hand holding her, her bottom pushing back towards him as her hips bucked. I saw her arse lift again as she offered herself even more, and her cries took on a new note as they reached higher and higher towards a crescendo.

I glanced around quickly to ensure I was still alone, concerned that they might be heard, and others would be drawn; yet the thick plants within the greenhouse, the depth of the hollow, and the lack of attention towards acoustics in the design, combined to considerably dampen the noise. Only because of the open window was I able to hear what was happening, and even then the sounds were still muffled.

Though I had looked away only momentarily, by the time I looked back the girl was clearly in the throes of an orgasm enforced by the footman’s hand. My own awareness of such things was limited to the occasional touch of my own hand, but there was no question of what I was witnessing as I watched her writhing beneath his hold. She clutched at the table, her eyes now screwed tightly shut, her mouth open, gasping as she rode the intensity of the feelings she was evidently experiencing. Again, no one who saw could doubt the pleasure she was receiving at the hands of the footman, and it made me consider both her plight and that of Sally’s the day before in a very different light.

I had assumed that they would soon finish, given how thoroughly he had clearly spanked her, but it seemed that he had other intentions for her.

Even as she lay there, luxuriating in her post-orgasmic bliss, he moved to step behind her, his spare hand slipping between them and, while I could not see what it was he was doing, to my increasing surprise (and I scarce dare to admit, excitement) he evidently appeared to be unfastening his britches. I believe that the maid also realised this, for she squirmed beneath the hand that held her to the table – not, may I add, in a way so as to suggest she was attempting to escape, but rather in encouragement and enticement.

I could quite imagine the view he had of her rosily spanked bottom rotating before him, held as she was, helplessly bent over the table. She lifted her head from the table as she anticipated him, and I was captivated by the play of emotions so keenly wrought on her features. It was clear the moment that she first felt him penetrate her as her mouth opened in a sharp intake of breath, then I saw him push forcefully forward and heard her cry out as he embedded himself within her.

As I watched, he took a moment to steady himself, the hand that previously pinned her to the table now grasping her hip. It was clear that he no longer needed to hold her in place – not that she had ever needed restraining. He slid his other hand slowly up the smooth skin of her nude back until it grasped her shoulder, and so braced, he began to thrust against her.

It was compelling to watch, and I could not drag my eyes from the scene, despite the naughtiness I felt as I intruded on their intimacy.

At first her face was lifted up, and I could see the pleasure as it played against her features, yet the emotions ran deeper and more complex than that: I fancied I saw intense desire warring with the overriding emotion I had identified as humiliation, while in the trembling of her body submission melded with ecstasy.

But as he continued to push repeatedly into her, thrust after thrust after thrust, her head lowered, coming to rest on her arms, which in turn were braced to support his assault.

I could not possibly imagine the depth of the feelings she must be undergoing – my own experience of a comparative nature had been extremely limited, the whole matter not only unwelcome but concluded in far less time than I had already been privy to this particular coupling – and I watched eagerly, stirred in no small way myself. Each of his thrusts rent from her a sob that tugged deeper at my own arousal. I only envisaged what it must be like to be her; I hardly really looked at him, obsessed instead with the thought of what it must be like to be taken, rather than watching the act of taking.

Eventually, after what seemed like an age but was probably only moments, his breathing became more ragged, and his thrusts shorter, faster. She, too, clearly felt the change, as her cries became increasingly higher in pitch; I realised their mutual climax was most imminent, and clearly he sensed it at the same moment.

I watched, mesmerised, as his hand reached forward for her hair, wrapping her long, chestnut locks about his fist, and he pulled her head backwards. Though I could not imagine this was comfortable for her, she seemed to revel in it. I realised it was further fuelling her arousal and capitulation to him, and yet in the same moment I wondered, with a jolt, if in fact I was reflecting onto her my own desires to submit, to be treated myself in the way that she was so evidently enjoying. The vivid memory of Sally’s reaction came to me again, along with the sense of humiliation that I knew she, too, must have borne.

These were indeed most powerful forces, and I was grateful to him in that moment for baring her face to my gaze once more. Never before had I seen such a naked canvass of emotion played out before me, and it was this – the intimacy of seeing her, watching her, during her moment of orgasm – that was far more arousing to me than the nudity, or the simplicity of the carnal act.

I heard him cry out as he released inside her, and she echoed him with a cry of her own; it was primal, visceral and base; it was sex for the sake of gratification. Yet they had made it intimate, memorable, and theirs; not through love, but through dominance and submission, spanking and humiliation, a role-play of punishment and pleasure.

At last they were finished, and he collapsed over her, his chest lying the length of her naked back. For a moment, they were still as they both caught their breath. Even then I could not bring myself to avert my gaze, for there was a tenderness in the scene that was as mesmerising in its own way as the raw carnality that had immediately preceded. Then I saw his lips move and I realised he was speaking softly in her ear.

I wondered what he had said to her when she seemed to stiffen in shock; but then I thought I had perhaps imagined it as next she seemed to laugh, shaking slightly beneath him.

Then, to my astonishment, they both raised their heads and looked directly at me. In unison, without hesitation, they found my eyes with theirs, and I realised in that moment that far from being the stealthy voyeur, they had known of my presence for some time – or more likely, I came to understand, he had known, and had waited until they had finished before he had informed her.

So surprised was I that I pulled back in reflex at being caught, ashamed and fearful, wondering now if they would be outraged and offended. But no outcry came from below, and on reflection their faces had been smiling and playful. It was my concern, not theirs, that had caused my reaction.

I withdrew anyway. I was not sure how to react to being caught when I thought myself safe and undetected, and I had not the slightest idea on how to engage them should I stay and wait.

Pushing myself to my feet, I continued down the gravel path, a churning of mixed emotions within me and my thighs, to no small extent, damp with my own excitement. I was troubled by the way my mind had reacted to her submission, but I was confused even more by the sense of humiliation that I had observed, and had felt reflected within me. What could the relationship be, I wondered, between humiliation and arousal? It was a thought that had never once crossed my mind before, and yet now, as I walked, I dwelled on it considerably.

Yet I had dallied too long, and it must be approaching lunchtime; I knew I was to meet Lucy and felt a moment of concern when I realised I had not yet found the pool to which the note had referred.

I would need to find someone and ask for directions. I hoped that would not be too difficult. Clearly there were two people in the greenhouse, but I had seen enough of them for now. I resolved instead to find another soul.

I wandered briskly on down the path.

~*~

A Long Time in Coming

Natalie Bartley

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